


Meadowlark

by dnwinch



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, a gay and a bi get Emo, bc this shit happens, dont let me touch musical theatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 23:15:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7074790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dnwinch/pseuds/dnwinch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You once said that you trusted me because you knew I was true,” began Damen, tilting his head up, locking eye contact. Laurent hummed in agreement. </p><p>“But with… but with everything your uncle did to you, how could you know?” </p><p>“I thought of a story I once was told.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meadowlark

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this is VERY obviously based off of the song meadowlark from the musical the baker's wife and i HIGHLY suggest you listen to it bc it's amazing and Very Laurent. also s/o to zari for cryin over this with me. okay enjoy!!

The auburn glow of dusk settled across the room, reflecting itself in the cherrywood bed posts as the first cool breezes of sundown swept across the bare skin of Damen’s back, goosebumps rising under Laurent’s fingertips.

“If this is cool to you,” he began, fingers dancing along Damen's spine, “Then you will never survive a Veretian winter.” 

“I think I could fair as well as you have an Akielon summer.” replied Damen, half leaning on top of the other man, self supported only by one elbow, the other arm strewn across the other man’s abdomen. 

“On the contrary, I doubt you would have such poise and grace.” 

“That's not what I was implying.” 

“I’m very much aware.” Laurent’s eyes, in moments like these, did not conflict what his words said, but further emphasized them. The sentiment of even playful banter was not lost to either man. His eyes, usually a piercing, striking hue, turned soft and inviting as a summer sky. Damen closed the distance between them, lips brushing with no hint of anything amorous. It was a kiss that had no intention of deepening, but one that happened simply because it had to. There was no universe where it could not. It was sickeningly sweet, and something the two weren't afforded the luxury of sharing often.

Damen retreated moments later, a flutter to his pulse. 

“May I ask you something?” he bit out quickly, an uncharacteristic lack of confidence in his words. His eyes still showed nothing but content. 

“I believe you just did.” Laurent smiled, to himself more than to Damen. 

“You know what I meant.” replied Damen, head falling almost dejectedly, resting in the crook of Laurent’s neck. Still, he exhaled what could be nearly audibly detected as a laugh. 

“Yes.” 

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.” said Laurent, reaching up and lacing his fingers through Damen’s hair, an act that always seemed to anchor the other man. 

“You once said that you trusted me because you knew I was true,” began Damen, tilting his head up, locking eye contact. Laurent hummed in agreement. 

“But with… but with everything your uncle did to you, how could you know?” 

“I thought of a story I once was told.”

“Laurent, you don't do anything unless you have at least twelve different potential ways out of it.” 

“I didn't exactly have any other options, did I? You were the only choice I had. I could have either feigned loyalty to my uncle forever and given him my kingdom voluntarily, or gone with you and take it. The choice seemed obvious.” The summer sky of Laurent’s eyes was growing into a hurricane. 

“Is it, though? How did you so blindly trust the man that killed your brother?” Damen knew the risk he took in expelling his thoughts. He also knew the risk he took by never voicing them.

Laurent, cool as a breath of fresh air, exhaled, fingers still at the nape of Damen’s neck. 

“In Vere, we tell a myth of the meadowlark.” 

“I’ve never heard it.” 

“Auguste would tell it to me as a boy,” he began, fingers stopping for a millisecond in Damen’s hair. 

“Laurent, we can leave this be if it -” 

“The meadowlark was a beautiful bird, who lived where the rivers wind. She sang with the angels and her voice carried throughout the forest for all to hear. But, she was blind. Eventually, a king took her, and let her live in his palace, where he gave her everything she could ever long for. He prayed for her every day that she would see again, to know how beautiful she was.” 

Damen’s body relaxed, letting himself lay limp, half on top of Laurent, his head resting back at the crook of Laurent’s neck as he recounted the tale. 

“One day, while she sang at the rivers, the sun god of our ancient religion heard her, and was so struck by her beauty and her song that he gave her sight. She opened her eyes, and saw the beautiful world around her, and finally she saw the man who saved her. And he was beautiful, much more beautiful than she knew the king to be. He asked her to come with him, to fly with him.” 

“So she did?” Damen posed, unmoving from his position. 

“She told the sun god ‘thank you,’ but she stayed. She couldn't bear to wound the pride of the king. The next morning, the king found that the meadowlark had died from her own grief.” 

“That's certainly not an uplifting tale to cite.” said Damen. 

“It was one of Auguste’s favorites, growing up. Beautifully depressing.” 

“That is definitely one way to describe it.” Damen replied, now lifting himself up to look at Laurent. 

“The story is my own. The king is my uncle, you are the sun god, and I am the meadowlark.” 

“Your sentiment is correct, but the endings differ substantially.” Damen noted. 

“Now you're catching up.” Damen smiled. 

“I don't agree that the king equates to your uncle. Nothing that man ever did to you was for your own benefit.” The fingers at Damen’s nape tightened ever so much. 

“The very moment I realized that was followed by the moment I knew I could trust you. The takeaway from the story is that you must let yourself reach your full potential. I knew I would only achieve that by your side.” 

Damen reached over and brushed a stray hair from Laurent’s temple, thumb caressing his gentle skin with it. 

“Every time I heard the part of the meadowlark’s death, I cried.” 

“It's difficult to imagine you crying at all.”

“I was a different person, then.” 

Damen’s fingers stayed transfixed in Laurent’s golden hair. 

“I wish I could have taken that pain away.” 

“Damen.”

“But I wouldn't change anything if it didn't mean we wouldn't be here, right now.” 

“Do you understand at all what it is I've been trying to tell you?” 

“Well, I liked the part where you equated me to a sun god.” 

“I chose to trust you because you could give me the freedom to be happy - a freedom and a feeling I haven't had since childhood.” 

At that moment, the world seemed to stop. Damen looked down into Laurent’s eyes, transfixed and smitten. They carried a weight of vulnerability and trauma that Damen had never seen so exposed. That’s what Damen realized - metaphorically, Laurent just stripped himself bare with a mere string of words. 

And Damen was stunned. Unsure of what to say or how to say it, he closed the mere inches of space between them, lips locking with a fervency that seemed both old and new. A new layer of depth had been added to them. 

“I love you.” Damen said, simply. Everything he said was. 

“And I, you.” The moment between them stretched in a blissful way, a way that neither of them wanted to end. Blue eyes met brown, trapped in a gaze of small bursts of passion melting into one prolonged sensation of joy. It was Laurent who broke it, bringing their lips together. 

“So if you're the meadowlark,” Damen began, “Does this mean I finally get to hear you sing?” Laurent pulled at the hair at his nape.


End file.
